That's Not My Neighbor

Exclusive YouTube Game Trailer

📝 Special Statement

Welcome to the dubious honor of being the newest, and perhaps the most critically positioned, employee at the grim, monolithic structure known simply as The Aethelred Apartments. Forget mopping floors and changing lightbulbs—your actual, utterly chilling mandate is to serve as the last line of defense against an ontological nightmare. This is That's Not My Neighbor, a detective puzzle game that redefines psychological tension and turns every polite knock into a potential existential threat. 🚪🕵️‍♂️

You step into this new role under the watchful, flickering light of a grainy tutorial video, ostensibly hired as the janitor. But that low-key title is a sinister euphemism. Your true office is the security booth, your tools are a clipboard and a highly sensitive gut instinct, and your job is not maintenance, but monster identification. The fate of the entire building, perhaps the entire city, rests on your ability to spot a bad tie, a slight height discrepancy, or a third eye concealed beneath a poorly-fitted wig. You are the Gatekeeper against the Doppelgängers. 😨

The core tension of the game springs from the horrifying reality: the creatures trying to breach the building are masters of deception. These shape-shifting horrors—let’s call them the D.D.D. (Doppelgänger Demonic Denizens)—possess the terrifying ability to transform into anyone and imitate them with chilling accuracy. They walk, talk, and dress like the people you know. They have names, jobs, and perhaps even annoying habits. They are your neighbors, only they are fundamentally wrong. This is where the detective puzzle elements become a frantic, high-stakes examination of identity. 🧠

However, even cosmic evil has its occasional off-days. The good news (if one can call it that) is that some monsters are not good at imitation and may develop flaws. These are your clues, your slivers of hope in the overwhelming darkness. The flaws are subtle, requiring the keenest observation: maybe their birthmark is on the wrong cheek, their voice slightly too resonant, their shadow falling in the wrong direction, or perhaps they’ve forgotten how many fingers a human is supposed to have. You have no choice but to pay attention to the image of your neighbors, scrutinizing every passport photo, every official record, and comparing it against the nervous, smiling person standing beyond the glass. This is a game of millimeters and microseconds. 🔎

The procedural aspect of your nightmare involves meticulous documentation. At the same time, remember to fill out checklists for each neighbor. This isn't just bureaucracy; it's your saving grace. For every person—or thing—seeking entry, you must methodically confirm details: ID validity, height, weight, hair color, the number of limbs, and any potential ‘anomalies’ detected. A tick in the wrong box, a rushed confirmation, could mean letting a devourer of souls into apartment 4B. The checklist is the crucible of your judgment; every entry must be precise, verified, and, ultimately, terrifyingly final. Every completed form is a temporary victory against the encroaching chaos. Prepare for a shift that will test your sanity and your focus to their absolute breaking point. Can you remain sharp when the very nature of reality is elastic? Good luck, Janitor. You'll need it. 🌑

📋 Instructions